


Transparency

by RosalindsGhost



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Angst, BAMF Rey (Star Wars), Banter, Cabin Fic, Cold Weather, Covert Operation, Denial of Feelings, Exhibitionism, F/M, FBI Agent!Poe, Feelings, Filthy, Gun Violence, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, In Hiding, Investigative Reporter!Rey, Masturbation, Moral Ambiguity, Names, On the Run, Oral Sex, POV Poe Dameron, Poe Dameron Needs A Hug, Protective Poe, Sex, Smut, Snow, Surveillance, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Winter, about a tablespoon, just a dash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29648715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosalindsGhost/pseuds/RosalindsGhost
Summary: Agent Dameron has a few things on his mind. Though he’s wearing thick winter gloves, he knows that his knuckles are white beneath the fleece-lined black leather, clenched on the steering wheel in a death grip. He’d thrown off all pursuit more than ninety minutes ago, but his pulse is still pounding, every nerve electrified.Even though he should be keeping an eye very much on the road in these conditions, he can’t help but keep stealing glances to his right, gaze helplessly drawn toward his unwilling companion. The young woman is hunched over with cold, shuddering despite the blasting heater in the old Land Rover Dameron’s piloting. Her slim-cut pant suit and low heels do absolutely nothing to insulate her from the weather.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Rey
Comments: 16
Kudos: 29





	Transparency

**Author's Note:**

> Sit yourselves down, friends, and I'll tell you the story of how Rosalind promised a nice little FBI AU one-shot. That was before her life went straight to hell for two weeks, and that little fic ballooned into a 35-Page Epic. What can I say? I use writing to process my shit, and sometimes that results in seven thousand words of angst followed by seven thousand (or so) words of smut.
> 
> I am very sorry that this was not delivered on time, is not what was expected, and is kinda morally tangled.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to the fans who love a binge read.

The hi-beams glancing off the swirling, heavy snow in the pitch-dark night create the incredible illusion of stars streaking past the cockpit of some fantastical, science-fiction spaceship. It’s a struggle to focus on the barely visible road ahead, black trees and blacker rocks looming on both sides, every nerve frayed worse than a piece of old rope… A near-impossible task, considering the furious, beautiful, dark-haired woman still (figuratively… well, kinda literally) _snarling_ at him from the passenger seat. 

That and the blinding blizzard. And the terrifying number of First Order goons desperate to find them. And slaughter them.

So, all told, Agent Dameron has a few things on his mind. Though he’s wearing thick winter gloves, he knows that his knuckles are white beneath the fleece-lined black leather, clenched on the steering wheel in a death grip. He’d thrown off all pursuit more than ninety minutes ago, but his pulse is still pounding, every nerve electrified.

Even though he should be keeping an eye _very much_ on the road in these conditions, he can’t help but keep stealing glances to his right, gaze helplessly drawn toward his unwilling companion. The young woman is hunched over with cold, shuddering despite the blasting heater in the old Land Rover Dameron’s piloting. Her slim-cut pant suit and low heels do absolutely nothing to insulate her from the weather. 

As he contemplates her slender, shivering form, his gaze lands on the large parka still resting on the seat between them. His brown eyes flicker from jacket back up to passenger. She’s stubbornly staring out her window, refusing to look at the seemingly innocuous garment, or the agent who tried to give it to her. They’d reached their little stand-off twenty minutes ago, when she’d begun to tremble with cold.

His jaw ticks in annoyance, but he lets it be. She’ll be cold but fine. At least she’s finally stopped hurling insults at him, and he’s not very inclined to do anything that might provoke her to continue.

Fixing his attention on the road again, he slowly releases his breath, trying to calm the way his heart is still hammering at high speed, the way it has been since before they left the city limits. 

Since he’d been forced to tackle her down to her kitchen floor in a hail of bullets.

Since he’d burst unannounced into her apartment, wild-eyed and bellowing about the men he’d spotted coming for her. 

Since he’d begun surveillance on her weeks ago.

Since he’d caught his first glimpse of her.

The agent shifts a little in his seat, uncomfortably aware of how little objectivity he has when it comes to this assignment. Sure, he’s in it for all the usual reasons: Follow Orders, Be the Hero, Catch the Bad Guy. 

The Really, Really Bad Guy. Who happens to have some kind of sick, twisted rage hard-on for the reluctant woman in the cab of his rover. 

Who Dameron may or may not already be half in love with, despite having properly known her for less than a day.

Fuck. He’s so _fucking_ fucked.

Despite himself, he glances at her again out of the corner of his eye, twitching with supressed shock when his brown eyes meet her piercing hazel gaze. Dameron feels as though he’s under a magnifying glass when she looks at him, all his feelings and his faults and his fuck ups laid bare. He clears his throat, tearing his attention away from her and back to the road.

“We’re close,” he tells her, wincing internally when it sounds more like a growl than the gentle reminder he’d intended.

She doesn’t respond.

Fair enough.

Unwillingly, he looks at her again, not surprised to see that she’s still unabashedly watching him. Her expression betrays nothing, and yet he still can’t help but feel that she’s examining him, analyzing him. Taking him apart. And planning her next move. Of that he has no doubt. She’s incredibly clever, and absolutely, positively here under protest. If she had it her way, he knows she’d be back in the city, publishing her big exposé on the First Order and getting herself killed in the process.

She remains silent, her attention unerring, and she continues to watch him long after he’s turned his attention back to driving.

Shortly, they reach their goal, or at least, the beginning of their goal. He gears down the rover, slowing it safely until it rolls to a stop just in front of a massive wall of conifers. As soon as the vehicle loses momentum, fallen snow begins to build up on the windshield despite the rapidly swishing wiper blades.

Again, he glances at her, deeply concerned. There’s a walk. From here to the safe house. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the inevitable objection.

“Miss Skywalker – ”

“Rey.”

“Miss Skywalker,” he sighs, trying to keep his patience intact, “We have to walk from here. It’s – not a quick walk. Especially not in this weather. I’m going to need you to wear the coat.”

Predictably, that smart mouth is immediately open and spitting words. “Don’t be ridiculous Poe – ”

“Agent Dameron.”

“Poe. You’re little better dressed than I am beneath the parka. I’m not some damsel. I may have grown up in the desert, but I know what cold is – ” 

Her words are cut off with a sharp gasp as she cracks open her door, the sub-zero air pouring into the cab like a slap.

Wordlessly, Dameron drops the heavy coat around her shoulders, giving her a light shove. “Get going,” he orders gruffly, ruminating on the necessity of the ‘custody’ part of protective custody, especially in the case of this particular detainee.

Sensibly (and without further comment) she steps down out of the passenger seat and into shin-deep snow. Other than another sharp inhalation, she doesn’t make a sound, but the agent knows the cold must be biting on her near-to-bare feet. Dameron, too, climbs out of the cab, reaching into the back for his duffle of supplies. Rounding the front of the truck, he circles her upper arm in a firm grip, and tugs her through the treeline, plunging them into the dark of the forest.

Thankfully, the young reporter keeps her colour commentary to herself as they trudge through the silent, darkened trees. Snow crunches beneath their feet; the only sound they can hear. Dameron likewise makes no comment, saving his breath for the journey.

The snow is deep enough to hinder their progress, and soon the agent is shivering, too, he and his companion moving more and more slowly as her lips begin to turn blue. Stubbornly, she says nothing even as he glances at her with greater frequency than before, his concern obvious on his face. Finally, he catches a glimpse of the cabin ahead through the trees, but at that moment, the reporter stumbles before he can catch her, falling face-forward in the snow.

His vicious curse is lost to the rapidly worsening wind as he whirls and stoops to try and help her stand. She’s floundering, though, the cold such a shock that her muscles are slow to react. Dameron reacts instinctively, scooping her up in his arms and hauling ass (as much as possible, given the now knee-deep snow) the last quarter mile to the small wooden building. 

Breath bursts from his chest, heavy mist in the frigid air by the time he reaches the steps of the small wooden porch, each inhalation stinging like broken glass in his lungs. He pauses uncertainly, momentarily unsure of how to juggle his burden while also unlocking the door. It’s at that moment that he realizes that the figure in his arms is suspiciously still.

Suddenly alarmed, he glances down at her, worried that she might be injured in some way. Truth be told, he would have expected her to fight him on the damsel treatment. Instead, she’s simply unmoving in his grasp, looking up at him with an almost puzzled expression on her face.

“We’ll get you warm, soon, Miss Skywalker,” he finds himself reassuring her gently. “Think you can stand for a sec while I unlock a few locks?”

She nods gravely, eyes still trained on his face, even her hair soaked with freezing water now. Bending slowly, he sets her on her feet, leaving one arm around her waist to steady her while he fishes for the keys in his pocket with the other. As the first deadbolt slides open, he hears the low mutter in his ear, the British accent lilting and lovely despite the volume. 

“I told you. It’s Rey.”

The laugh that erupts out of him is short and clipped, but it’s real, nonetheless. For some reason, he doesn’t need to look at his companion to know that her mouth is quirked with a small, mischievous smile. It’s one more reason to like her.

She’s kind of a tease.

The door opens without much fuss, the safehouse thankfully fairly well-maintained. Together, Agent Dameron and his charge stumble over the threshold and into the darkened, one-room log cabin. He turns right immediately inside the doorway, helping the frozen young woman toward a small seating area.

He quickly deposits Skywalker on the little loveseat and moves to bring some light to the space. Three gas lanterns are already lined up atop the tiny table in the kitchenette. Digging for a lighter, he quickly ignites one, snatching it off the table and carrying it swiftly over to the seating area. Before too long, he has a fire going in the hearth, and the other two lanterns lit. He turns to the young woman huddled and shivering on the couch.

“You okay?” he asks.

She nods jerkily, barely able to respond, she’s quaking so badly. 

Dameron sighs heavily, nostrils flaring. 

“I have dry clothes. You need to change, or you’ll be in trouble.”

Nodding again, she moves to try and peel his jacket off from around her thin frame. Unfortunately, her joints are stiff with cold. She can barely make her fingers curl.

“Let me help?” 

His mouth is dry around the words. Part of him wishes he could take them back.

“Please,” is the quiet reply.

With blood pounding in his ears like the roar of a waterfall, the agent kneels before her, reaching out to help divest her of the sodden garments. He doesn’t speak – can’t speak – moving as efficiently and professionally as possible. Gaze fixed rigidly on her face, expression viciously controlled, his eyes only occasionally flicker downwards to ensure his hands don’t accidentally fumble. The large jacket comes off first, followed by her blazer and then shoes.

A shuddering breath sounds from his companion as he instinctively cups one of her narrow feet between his comparatively warm hands.

“Hurts a bit,” she whispers, and he nods in understanding. 

The temperature juxtaposition probably registers as pain to her angry nerve endings.

His hands tremble as he reaches out for the buttons of her blouse, hoping to _all that’s holy_ that she doesn’t notice the tremor. Her simple, white garment has become translucent, wet. It takes a heroic effort to force his gaze back up to her face. Regrettably, for his sanity, the glimpse he gets of the pink lace bra beneath her top – and _Christ_ her tightened, stiff nipples beneath that – is already burned into his brain forever.

Peeling the shirt somewhat jerkily down her shoulders, he helps pull her shaking limbs free There, he pauses, eyebrows raised, silently asking permission to continue. He doesn’t trust himself to ask out loud.

Her x-ray gaze is heavy on his face. 

Slowly, she nods. His hands fall to her waist, to the button of her trousers. 

Strangely, the eye contact – intended to make her feel safe, respected – somehow makes this feel… Almost _unbearably_ intimate. 

Undoing the surprisingly delicate zip fly, his fingers find their way inside her slacks, easing them carefully down her slender waist. He can only hope she misses his light gasp, the way his eyes widen, and pupils slowly dilate when she tilts her hips up to facilitate the action.

Time seems to slow as he liberates her from the last remaining piece of sodden clothing, stripping her down to her underwear as their eyes remained locked on each other. The fabric slips down past her knees. Her gaze holds, burning. Dameron can’t help but fear that his eyes are giving every one of his secrets away to her freely. Much as he’d freely give his life for her.

_Fuck._

He doesn’t even know her. Not really. He can admit that.

“Thank you,” she mumbles through chattering teeth as he quickly turns away to rifle through his duffel in search of dry clothes. 

Unfortunately, the sudden attack on Miss Skywalker’s apartment hadn’t provided much opportunity to pack anything _specifically for_ the young reporter. She’ll… have to wear something of his. He grabs the first soft things he finds, a sweatshirt and some thick joggers in his grip as quickly as he can manage. Turning back, he holds the fabric out with the intention of helping her dress.

His brain decides to make a detour on the way up.

Like the witness to a car accident, he can’t prevent how the hand gently circling her delicate ankle suddenly tightens to a fierce _grip_ as he comes face-to-face with the object of his (unrequited, deeply unprofessional) affection dressed in almost nothing.

She’s _perfect._

Her skin is pale and smooth in the firelight, small dustings of freckles disappearing and reappearing with the flicker of the flames. She’s sleek. Deadly. All long limbs and lean muscle. Feline, almost. Covered only by a beautifully simple, soft pink bra and panty set. 

Poe struggles to swallow around the molten heat pouring down his throat at the sight, mouth as dry as a dead sea. His nostrils flare as he sucks in a gasp. Heat blazes in his groin.

He’s been looking for way too long. He’s staring, really. He knows it, but he can’t seem to look away.

In all his weeks of surveillance, as he’d allowed himself to become more and more invested, to become attached, to care more about his target than could ever be considered objective, he’d never once seen her like this. Like any good operative, he’d tracked her movements. He’d watched and photographed her home and her workplace. He’d never seen her undress. 

Agent Dameron might be in hopelessly deep with her, but he could _never_ have forgiven himself if he’d infringed on her liberty.

Yet here he is, drinking her in like he could never get enough.

A slight noise, almost like the involuntary sound a person would make if struck, snaps him out of his stasis. He immediately drags his gaze back up to her face, meeting hazel eyes wide with surprise, and… something else. He’s not sure. He can’t look at her for long enough to see.

Dropping her gaze like a hot potato, he snatches up the fallen clothing ( _shit,_ he’d dropped the bundle of garments like some horny teen) and thrusts it blindly toward her. Not stopping to see if she even managed to catch what he practically threw at her, he lurches to his feet, careening away from her to find something, anything else to look at.

Blankets.

There’s a thick duvet, with quilts, folded at the end of the bed. It’s tucked in the far corner, and he strides across the room, ripping the fabric off the mattress as if it’s offended him. Swinging back around, he drops the heavy load of bedding around her naked shoulders before she’s even had a chance to attempt putting the clothes on herself.

He can’t help but notice how she reflexively clutches the blankets around her as soon as she feels them. A hot flush of shame suffuses his body along with the panic, confusion, arousal… _God damnit._ Poe’s made her uncomfortable. 

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he chooses to ignore the self-loathing, pushing it down along with everything else. It’s the way he’s always gotten the job done. He seizes the back of one of the small armchairs, dragging it across the floor until it rests directly in front of the fireplace. Unapologetically, he turns to the young journalist and scoops her up, blankets and all – ignoring the indignant _squeak_ – and deposits her in the chair.

“Please, just… stay put, Miss Skywalker,” he intones politely, “I’ll – I’ll make you something hot to drink.”

It’s an efficient technique to avoid confronting this situation, and so he makes his way to the kitchenette. Despite the lack of electricity, the cabin does have simple plumbing, and he fills a copper kettle with cold water straight from the tap. The small gas camp stove will make quick work of boiling it, despite its initial temperature. 

Suddenly, he’s left with nothing to do but wait for the water to boil, for her to say something.

He stands with his back to her, staring into the blue flame beneath the kettle. The little, one-room shelter is silent, dominated only by the crackle of fire and the slow roaring build of hot water and steam. Dameron’s mind is a screaming blank, completely unable to escape the vision of her body, unable to stop the shame he feels.

Her voice suddenly rings out through the silence, expected but somehow still gutting. 

“I _want_ to trust you, Agent,” she says, her tone low yet still clear in the small space, “but I think I’m owed some information before I’m prepared to do that.”

Well, that’s fair enough. He’s done this song and dance in his job before. He has information he’s allowed to give her; enough to establish trust.

“Alright,” he allows, “I haven’t given you much to go on.”

He lets the admission sit for a moment, but he can’t help but feel a bit defensive. His mouth opens again without permission. 

“But I would like to note, for the record, that I was a little more focused on saving your damn life than giving you the highlights of your case,” he growls, turning to stare accusingly at the back of her head.

A short silence holds sway before she twists to look straight at him, her expression arch, a little vicious, almost. And fuck if that doesn’t nearly bring him to his knees. 

“You call it saving my life; I call it kidnapping.”

A sarcastic huff of a laugh from her lips. Her jaw clenches.

“Tomato, to-mah-to, right Agent?”

“Protective custody,” he automatically retorts, but without heat.

They watch each other warily for a few moments more, her gaze calculating in a way that makes him suspect he won’t find this next part very pleasant. The desire to look away, to avoid the spotlight of her attention, is strong, but her sway over him is unfortunately stronger. Thankfully, he’s saved from what’s sure to be another devastating comment from his charge by the high whistle of the boiling kettle. 

He turns back to the tiny camp stove, pulling the kettle off the heat to pour the steaming liquid into a mug for her. Luckily, there are tea bags amongst the non-perishables packed into the tiny kitchenette. Good. 

He stares into the mug as the reddish-brown colour of the tea slowly infuses the clear water. He sighs. 

“Ask your questions, Miss Skywalker.”

She wastes no time.

“You’ve been watching me for weeks, haven’t you?”

_Holy fuck._

He turns to stare at her in shock. The agent’s mouth hangs open stupidly for several seconds before he says the first thing that pops into his head. “If you knew, why didn’t you confront me earlier?”

It’s a fair question. Given what he’s already seen of her personality, he would have expected her to pounce on him almost the second she noticed she was being tailed. Given her stubborn refusal to let go of a story even if her life is in danger (it’s happened before – he’s read copies of the hate mail), he’s surprised he hadn’t found himself under interrogation. 

A vivid picture: Poe at _her_ mercy.

A completely uncalled-for shiver travels down his spine at that line of thought.

Over by the fire, she lets out a bit of a quiet, self-aware laugh, clearly unashamed of her own rather aggressive tendencies. 

“I suppose that’s a reasonable thing to ask, Agent,” she admits, and Dameron already misses the sound of his name in her mouth, like the absolute fool he is.

“Well, to put it bluntly, your – _style_ – of surveillance is… textbook. Really typical of Feds. So, I didn’t bother to label you a threat.”

“‘Didn’t bother?’” he quotes, ire rising at the overconfident implication that she’s not in any danger from him. “Do you have any idea how _insane_ you sound right now? You knew someone was keeping an eye on you and you did nothing??”

The blankets shift in a way that suggests she’s crossed her arms haughtily beneath the fabric. 

“You’re hardly the first Federal Agent to look me up, Dameron. Even the corrupt ones still spend most of their time following the same guidelines and training. Easy enough to evade when I want to. It’s when it’s not a cop or a Fed that I start to worry.”

He gapes at her, aghast. He’d known from her file that she’s brave to the point of foolishness. But this is pure lunacy.

“The attack tonight: does it have something to do with my - habit - of looking a little too closely at First Order finances?”

The question catches him off guard. It startles an honest answer out of him. “Yes. That, and Ren’s mentor, Snoke. He’s gone missing. And I have a feeling you might know something about that.”

Her eyes narrow minutely, and he knows he’s turned it on her, said something she didn’t expect. Though her expression betrays very little, he can tell she’s surprised. She doesn’t address it, just allows it to slide. At least for the moment – he’s sure he’ll be made to explain later. 

Instead, she throws him another question.

“It was them trying to kill me, before?”

He nods, tense.

“Why would you protect me like this?” she suddenly asks. “There’s nothing I can give you to use against them. They’re too powerful.”

She’s lying. There’s no way Ren would want her this badly if she didn’t have something big. So why would she try to hide it from him?

Oh right.

Trust.

She’s not going to give it to him unless he tells her the truth. She’s too smart for her own good. Too foolhardy, as well.

“I don’t think that’s entirely true, Miss Skywalker,” he says quietly – not accusingly, just stating facts. “But I’m not here just because of some information you may or may not have.”

He swallows, trying and failing to prevent his rough voice from betraying his emotion. 

“I’m protecting you because you’re innocent. You think I’d let them hurt you? Or take you? Even if you couldn’t help me?”

She looks away, staring back into the flames. She speaks, but he can barely hear her over the dull crackle of the fire’s remaining embers. It’s almost as though she’s talking to herself.

“ _‘Innocent?’_ ”

Faster than a thought, she’s on her feet facing him, teeth bared, and fingers clenched into her blankets with anger. 

“What?” she snarls, her voice growing louder by the second. “You secretly watch me for, what? A few fortnights? And you think you know me, Agent Dameron?”

If it were possible for him to back away from her further, he would, but as it is, he’s caught with the stove at his back, unable to flee from her sudden onslaught. 

“I’m ‘innocent’?! Did your case file tell you that?!”

She starts to step toward him but stumbles, her limbs still a little uncoordinated with cold. The agent reacts without thinking, darting forward to catch her before she can fall. For a heart-stopping, breathtaking instant, she’s fully wrapped in his embrace. 

The moment she’s steady on her feet again, however, she shrugs him off angrily. One finger appears from beneath the blankets to prod accusingly at his chest. It stings.

“How am I supposed to trust you when you have all of this information on me, and you’ve given me almost _nothing_ to go on?”

Most people, they would just blindly believe that he, as a government agent, a member of law enforcement, would have her best interests at heart. Not Rey Skywalker. She knows better. From experience. 

Dameron shouldn’t have expected any less from her.

He releases a resigned sigh.

“Please. Can you just – sit back down and get warm?” he asks tentatively, placing a wary hand on her shoulder to guide her back by the fire.

“I’ll – ” he sighs again, tucking the blankets around her as she settles back down, “I’ll tell you whatever you want. You’re right. The playing field isn’t level.”

She blinks up at him, clearly surprised (and a little pleased) that he’s given into her so easily. If only she knew how tightly she already has him wrapped around her finger. The truth is, he’s wanted to tell her the everything since the moment he saw her.

She dips her head in agreement.

He nods tightly back at her, already regretting everything about this situation. 

Grinding his teeth, he restlessly looks away, gaze landing on the still-steaming mug of tea he’d left in the kitchen. Swiftly retrieving it, he brings the hot beverage back over to the fire, pulling the second armchair up beside hers as he does so. Her thin, graceful hands emerge from the top of the blanket burrito, gratefully accepting the drink with a smile that nearly _stops his heart._

He thumps down into his seat a little more heavily than intended, somewhat gobsmacked at the sight. Leaning in, he rests his elbows on his knees, scrunching his eyes closed as he pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand. He’s suddenly exhausted. A long slightly shaky breath exits his chest. It’s a pathetic attempt to calm himself.

“Alright. What do you want to know?”

“You won’t lie to me?”

He looks up at her, startled by the vulnerability behind the question.

“No,” he finds himself swearing, his voice rough with emotion, “I won’t lie to you, Rey.”

Her first name just slips out, as easy as anything. For a moment, it’s like she’s held in a state of shock, her nostrils flaring with the sharp gasp that forces its way into her lungs. She holds his gaze for a long time before she speaks, searching for something in his face, though he’s not sure what. The reporter must find it, whatever it is, because her expression solidifies, suddenly determined. 

It’s almost no surprise when her first question is straight to the point and brutal: designed to inspire guilt.

“How long, exactly, have you been surveying me?” she inquires, her voice cold.

Despite his promise of transparency, Agent Dameron hesitates over his answer, anxiety flooding his system in anticipation of an angry response. 

All of her attention is fixated on him, waiting for whatever answer he chooses to give. Looking into her large, soft eyes, he knows that he’ll never be able to lie to her. More than giving her the truth she deserves he wants to try and explain himself – make her understand – _why_ she needs to be kept safe. Why _he needs_ to keep her safe.

“I’ve been conducting direct surveillance on you for thirty-seven days,” he finally admits, spitting it out like a debrief report to his superiors. 

Her eyes widen minutely at the number.

“Several audio recording devices were planted throughout your apartment, as well as remote monitoring for your phone, laptop and car. I conducted remote visual surveillance from the building across the street. I tailed you any time you left the apartment. Your work phone and computer were bugged. I – I made sure I was within visual range any time you went on an errand, were at social engagement…”

He trails off, trying to glean any hint of her feelings from her carefully controlled expression.

“And your files?” she prompts quietly, “How extensive are those?”

He’s struck for a moment by how much mystery still surrounds this woman despite his unprecedented access to her life – does she still have something to hide? He casts his mind back, not having to dig too deep in his memories to recover the contents of her file. Just thinking about that first day, when he’d opened the thick manilla folder to find Rey Skywalker’s image staring back at him, he experiences the same unexpected rush of pure adrenaline.

“They’d been keeping tabs on you pretty much since the moment you set foot in New York. I – I’ve read all your articles. I know about your friends, relationships…”

She flinches back. He’s clearly hit a sore spot. Rey Skywalker barely has friends, and she certainly doesn’t have a romantic relationship. 

“There wasn’t much in there from before New York,” he continues, “other than the fact that you moved from England.”

Something like relief flickers momentarily across her face before it’s gone.

“And who put you on my trail?” she asks.

“The Director herself,” he answers, “Organa. She… said I was the only man she trusted to keep you safe.”

The Director _had_ said that. What an odd thing for Leia to say. Dameron knows he’s her top Agent, knows he’s being groomed to take over one day, but…

“She seemed… a little more invested than usual,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, only really realizing it now.

The young reporter has turned away, gaze distant and face closed off as she considers that information. Oddly, she doesn’t seem very surprised to hear that FBI Director Leia Organa is interested in her goings on. The agent files that tidbit of information away for later.

Again, it suddenly hits him that despite his file on her, despite his extensive surveillance, this young woman is still nothing but an enigma to him, a phenomenon that he’s unwillingly drawn to, despite a usually healthy fear of the unknown.

Her next question hits like a blow.

“When did your mother die?”

Instinctively, he seizes her by the shoulders hard enough that the tea nearly sloshes from her mug. “How did you know she’s dead?” he hisses, heartbeat ringing in his ears, irrational panic threatening to overtake him in response to the trauma of the question, even after all these years without Shara.

“I didn’t,” she answers, quietly, if firmly. “I only suspected. It’s the way you talk about her; the Director.”

He sighs out something harsh and hot, almost a sob. Burning tears gather at the corners of his eyes as he releases her, breaking away from her magnetic gaze. Swallowing hard around the sudden lump in his throat, he gives her the truths he’d promised.

“I was eight. Her name was Shara Bey. USAF.”

She lets the silence sit for a time while Dameron catches his breath, struggling to rein in the sudden storm of grief. He stares into the waning flames, shaken. His head jerks up in shock at her next words.

“Thank you for sharing her with me.”

The agent knows she’s an orphan. Of course, that was a part of her file; but the way she says it, like the strength of his memory is a gift he’s given her... His throat tightens again, another swell of emotion causing his heart to clench with sympathy.

Her lips part, breath hitching just slightly before she asks her next question. 

“Why do you do this work? Do you want to be a hero? Rescue the damsel?”

Tension rockets through his body.

“Does the power trip turn you on?” she continues relentlessly, voice rising. “You like throwing your weight around? The rush you get from beating the ‘Bad Guy?’”

It’s impossible not to flinch back from the words, true as they are, as they’ve been in the past. 

His first instinct is to give her the PR Answer™. It’s technically true – he really did want to do good, catch the bad guy and be the hero… Or at least, that’s what he’s been telling himself for the past ten years.

That option is quickly discarded, however. A sharp mind like Skywalker’s isn’t going to let a bullshit answer like that slide.

The second impulse he has, naturally, is to defend himself. It’s a strong enough instinct that his mouth actually drops open to begin expanding upon the exhaustive list of Good Things™ he’s done as a part of his job, but then he stops. That’s a bullshit way to respond, too, because it’s not the truth either. At least, not anymore. His mouth clicks shut.

A great, sighing gust of air escapes out of his nose as he deflates; defeated by her. Despite the sweet, acute pain of surrender, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s put himself willingly at her feet.

“I used to do this work to be the hero, Miss Skywalker. You’re right.”

He looks down at his fists, tightly clenched together because he sure as hell can’t look at her any longer. “I believed it all. Hook, line, and sinker; truth, justice, and the American Way, but… It’s a fantasy. It always has been.

“I’m not an idiot. I might have drunk the patriotism kool-aid at first, but these days? Fuck. I’m just trying to make sure we don’t lose any more good people to this shitty world.”

He can feel her skepticism without having to see her face, but he turns to her nonetheless, once again driven to defend himself. “Look. I know it’s naïve to talk about things like good people and bad people. I’m painfully aware that there are mostly shades of grey. I know all the horrific shit we supposed ‘good guys’ have done. And still do.”

She opens her mouth as if to interject, but he isn’t finished. 

“I’m not talking about trusting the system. I know the system’s bullshit. I’m talking about using the power that this position affords me to try and make a difference. To try and help people like _you._ ”

Her lightly arched brows draw together slightly as he tries to explain himself, and he can’t help the way his gaze is pulled to where she’s chewing on her lower lip. It’s clear she’s mulling over what he said, tasting and testing its veracity. She doesn’t ask him to elaborate further, but he’s left with the impression that she might not be entirely convinced by what he has to say.

Surprisingly, she doesn’t address it, instead looking to the fire again, as if it could grant her clarity. 

Dameron allows her the space, knowing he’s given her a lot to process in the last few minutes. He quietly watches her, the soothing crackle of flames lulling the silence into something softer. The way she nearly glows in the dim light is positively breathtaking – she looks ethereal, divine. Even wrapped in old quilts, and with hair still snarled and damp at the ends.

“Poe.”

Her voice breaks him from his spellbound revery. His face heats dramatically, embarrassed to have been so engrossed in her beauty. He prays the blush isn’t obvious in the gloom.

A pause. She bites her lip; comes to a decision.

“Thirty-six days ago, I attended a press event at the opening of a new First Order research facility.”

Instantly, he schools his features into a neutral expression. 

“I’d been trying to break into the Order’s inner press circle for almost six months by that point. Attending the opening had seemed like a pipe dream. Most of the execs were – rightfully – suspicious of my motives,” she admits with a dry chuckle.

“I got lucky. I scored a personal invite from the CEO himself. Managed to strike his fancy at that press conference about their building code violations.”

Dameron nods, a bit warily. None of this new information to him. He’s not sure why she’s even brought it up, but he listens.

“While the sudden access to Kylo Ren was amazing, it meant that I was receiving… more of his attention than I wanted.”

Something dangerous begins to boil in his blood as she speaks. 

“He insisted on dancing with me at the event. Spent the whole dance dropping horrible, incriminating stories in my ear. Like he was trying to impress me or something.”

A visible shudder wracks through her frame, her disgust with the man physically evident. 

“On top of all that, he got a bit too… familiar. So, I made my excuses and tried to leave.”

A blazing flash of rage _surges_ through the agent. He remembers. He’d been there. Her sudden access to the FO’s top executive had been the catalyst that transformed her from a Person of Interest to high-priority surveillance target. The party had been the very first time he’d tailed Rey.

He’d infiltrated as one of the service staff, keeping to the edges of the crowd, keeping his eyes on the reporter. Agent Dameron had been under strict orders to observe, not engage. So, he’d kept his distance, stewing as the slimy CEO put the moves on the young woman. She’d done an admirable job of deflecting Ren while still feigning interest. 

He’d been able to tell, though, even from a distance, that she was uncomfortable, her rigid posture undeniable.

“I was making my way to the exit when I noticed Ren following.”

She’s watching him carefully as he tries to school his face into neutrality.

_Shit. Shiiiit, shit, SHIT!_

_Fuck._

“I tried to run for the doors, even though I knew he’d be able to cut me off before I escaped.”

_Oh, fuck._

“There was this huge crash behind me. I kept running – in fact it actually gave me an extra burst of adrenaline,” she notes, chuckling faintly, “But I did catch a glimpse over my shoulder, as I pushed through the doors. He’d collided with one of those buffet carts, absolutely full of dishes. It was priceless.”

Dameron waits with bated breath. He wants to run away, to avoid facing up to himself. But he stays.

“I’m so thankful that he didn’t catch me that day,” she admits, and he can hear the fresh relief in her voice even now. “But even if he had caught up to me, if he’d been able to do what he wanted to me... it wouldn’t have stopped me from pursuing this story, you understand?”

The fear retreats. He does understand. And he _hates_ it that he does.

“I know why I’m here. I went in with eyes wide open, but you… you’re the only factor in this situation I can’t figure out. Why are you here? Why did you take this assignment? I’m asking you, specifically. Not Agent Dameron. Not the man who wants to be the hero. Why do you want to protect me, Poe?”

He’s across the room, hands clutching either side of the farmhouse-style kitchen sink in a vicelike grip, staring unseeingly out the window at the snowy dark before he’s even aware he’d moved. All he can hear is his own sharp, panicked breathing, and the echo of her words in his ears. _Why does Poe want to protect her?_

It's there, staring him in the face. It’s the truth on the tip of his tongue, the one he doesn’t want to give her because it scares him so much. Can he deny her, though? Now, after every naked fact hasn’t deterred her. 

She hasn’t let him off the hook, though, no sir – she’s brutally called him on his bullshit at every turn. But nothing he’s said or done seems to have shaken her, has made her turn away in horror or disgust or fear. She hasn’t run.

The truth comes out. It always does.

“Because you’re the only fucking thing I’ve seen in – _shit_ – in as far back as I can remember that gives me hope.”

His voice is rough, as if he’d been screaming for hours, the words punctuated by short gasps. It’s a surprise to even himself that he’s spoken, but he can’t seem to stop now that he’s started.

“ _Fuck._ It’s like I opened your file and suddenly all the corruption, all the violence, the fighting, the depths that people will sink to just to hurt one another… All of that just fell away because despite it all, you’re the one person out there who’s still fighting, who still believes that there’s something worth fighting for.”

In spite of himself, Poe continues, digging his own grave. 

“Something about you ripped me open and made me _feel_ again, and I… I couldn’t let them hurt you.”

He stands, head down and fists clenched at his sides, fearing the devastating impact of his own admissions. Every word out of his mouth has been true; he’s done as promised, but now he has to deal with the consequences of his actions, of his feelings. Somehow, he still has to try and protect her, even if the things he’s admitted to don’t further erode her already fragile trust in him.

_Fat fucking chance._

He can’t imagine that she’ll take any of what he’s said well. He’s invaded her privacy. He’s taken her from her home and her friends, and he’s just admitted to having far more than a professional interest in this case. He’s fucked everything up; from the moment he’d agreed to take this assignment. How will he even look her in the eye after this?

A slight noise from behind has him whipping around, body tense and ready for a fight. Instead of finding a threat when he turns, there’s Rey, standing close enough to touch. She’s nearly his height – just an inch or two shorter than him without the heels – so their eyes automatically meet.

“I know that cart of dishes didn’t find itself in Kylo’s path by accident,” she whispers. “One of the staff put it there. At least, I thought he was staff until tonight.”

Poe doesn’t say anything. 

“You have to understand, I know what I do. I’m a shit-disturber. So, I’m used to watching my own back,” she steps even closer. 

He finds himself clenching his fists just to keep from reaching out.

“I couldn’t be sure that it was you who kept an eye on me after that night, but…” she seems to struggle for the words, her eyes tracking feverishly over his face, “From the moment you started watching me, I – For the first time in my life, I felt… _safe._ ”

The final word is barely audible, but he catches it just the same, sucking in a sharp, shocked breath as he hears it.

She laughs wetly, almost exasperated with herself, and he can see tears gathering at the corners of her luminous eyes. 

“You see?” she says, voice thick, “That’s how _fucked_ my life is. I’d never even met you, but instead of feeling threatened, I felt like you were… protecting me.”

She hunches into herself under the thick quilts. 

“I felt – stupid, and foolish – like some naïve little girl, but I was right, wasn’t I?” 

She looks back up at him, hazel eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears. 

“You’re _safe,_ Poe.”

Almost of their own accord, his hands come up to gently cup her face. Her cheekbones are still a little cool under his thumbs when he runs them gently over the high ridges. She’s utterly motionless, watching him expectantly, clearly unsure what his next move will be. Honestly, he’s not sure either.

All he can think about is the feel of her silken skin under his calloused palms, how he can still smell the faintest hint of her bright and citrusy perfume. She smells and looks and feels like sunlight itself. It wouldn’t surprise him if he were to burn alive just from touching her.

In a blur of movement, the blankets fall to the floor with a soft thump. Rey surges toward him, planting her lips on his in a feverish kiss.

Poe’s brain short-circuits. He’s frozen in shock for so long that she actually begins to pull away, her posture rigid with embarrassment. Luckily, the move is enough to kick his senses back into gear, and _FUCK._

_Fuck._

It’s better than every shameful imagining he’d ever allowed himself. It knocks him off his feet, metaphorically. Heart-racing, palm-sweating, knee-weakening _heat_ is all he knows for an instant that seems to stretch out like eternity.

He keeps his grip on her, terrified to let her go, terrified that she’ll change her mind. Instead of continuing to pull back, however, she moans into his mouth, her hands coming up to grip hard at his shirt. He draws his tongue out to tease at the place where her lips part, and she gasps, mouth falling open, inviting him to plunder her.

Plunging his tongue into the wet heat of her mouth, he tastes her for the first time, and it’s a _fucking revelation _. He runs both hands down the sides of her neck, sucking on her tongue until he can feel her tremble. As his palms come to rest on her shoulders, his thumbs naturally fall to rest in the divots of her collarbones.__

____

____

Her skin is still a little cold to the touch.

Her skin. Bare skin.

That’s right. Rey isn’t wearing any clothes. Because she nearly died today. A couple of times.

Poe jerks away, regretful and guilty at the same time. 

Rey, on the other hand. Rey’s a vision: lips red, shiny with their shared saliva, and a little swollen from his teeth. She gazes at him, eyelids heavy, irises nearly hidden by black. High colour has bloomed back into her cheeks, and he’s helpless against the way his eyes are follow it downward, chasing that blush down her throat and over her chest. Her skin is nearly the same colour as her beautiful blush-pink bra.

It takes everything in him not to dive back into her, but he still has a few shreds of sanity left, and he’ll spend that meagre currency on Rey’s continued safety any time. 

“Rey,” he says roughly, voice gravel, but before he can continue, she smiles.

He’s totally blindsided. 

“There,” she says, tone extremely self-satisfied, “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Thought you’d keep calling me ‘Miss Skywalker’ up to and including when we fuck.”

 _Christ._ At this point, his brain will need to be mopped up from where it’s melted all over the god damn floor. 

“I – you – I – ” he stutters foolishly, rendered a gawky teen all over again by her words.

A soft, thin finger lands across his lips. “No more questions, Agent Dameron. No more talking. I need you. Now.”

Well then. There’s no choice, is there? He’d given up any pretense of professionalism the moment he took this assignment. He’s damned either way. Rey needs him, and as far as he’s concerned, there’s no higher calling than that.

He surrenders himself.

Poe falls to his knees at her feet. 

“Fuck. _Sweetheart._ Anything you need,” he promises, looking up at her like a sinful man seeking salvation.

She kneels down to his level, damning herself, cupping his jaw between her two delicate, yet strong hands. 

“Just this,” she whispers, leaning in to capture his lips again.

Poe seizes her waist, hauling her bodily toward himself, limbs tangling and fingers digging into flesh until she’s somehow straddling his lap. He hisses, almost in pain as her core brushes his hard length. The apex of her is thighs hot, even through the thick fabric of his jeans.

 _Christ,_ he’s so close to where he needs to be.

Rey moans, her blunt teeth catching on his lips again and again until they sting deliciously. He wraps one strong arm under her ass, levering himself up off the floor, carrying Rey with him. Her long, long legs wrap around his waist, and it’s better than he _ever_ could have imagined. _Perfect._

No – it’s more than that. 

Rey’s something real, now. Before, she was untouchable, intangible – just a pretty picture of an idea in his head. The reality, though… The reality of Rey is completely overwhelming. He’s immersed, pulled under, plummeting deeper and deeper into her warmth as she overwhelms his senses.

Her lips are chapped. He can feel where her cuticles have been bitten ragged with anxiety. She’s warm, and feisty, and recklessly brave. She curses like a sailor. Her contradictory nature simultaneously provokes and enflames him. Rey is real and flawed and so much better than the flimsy, two-dimensional ideal he’d come up with.

Poe prowls toward the bed, her weight almost nothing in his arms. Her hands feverishly work at the buttons of his shirt, even as her mouth remain fused to his. A growl builds deep in his chest as she tightens her thighs around his hips, grinding her ass down on his undeniable erection.

When she suddenly tries to pull away, he can’t help but chase her lips, already desperately addicted to the taste of her. Rey laughs breathlessly. The bright, happy sound is totally at odds with his desperation, and it’s kind of beautiful. He finds the corners of his own mouth quirking up in response, smiling even while he still fights to kiss her. 

She leans back in his grip, displaying an impressive amount of abdominal and thigh strength as she simultaneously avoids his kisses while yanking his shirt from his pants. It’s at this point that Poe abruptly realizes he’s just along for the ride. Rey is calling the shots. _Fuck,_ she’s been unknowingly calling the shots since the beginning.

All he can do is follow. And hope he’ll survive… Though he isn’t counting on it. Not with the way she’s looking at him, like she intends to eat him alive.

Her chilled hands are a shock to his skin as she leans back in, fingers sliding between the parted fabric. He shivers deliciously as she walks her cold digits across his naked flesh, carefully exploring and cataloguing the planes and dips of his body.

He finds her lips again as her fingers begin to warm in response to his own body heat. Rey’s kisses are vicious, almost violent – the sharp, clean pain of her teeth sending bolts of pleasure straight to his cock. She’s like a force of nature, and he’s just surrendering himself to the storm. Her taste sings on his tongue, and Poe just knows he’ll crave that sweetness for the rest of his days.

She hums into his mouth as her hands find their way inside the waistband of his jeans, bypassing his underwear entirely to reach the flesh beneath. A completely involuntary moan from deep in his chest is lost to her clever mouth as her fingers dig into the twin globes of his ass. How the _fuck_ is he supposed to survive this when the simple act of Rey copping a feel nearly causes him to spontaneously combust?

He’s holding on to her for dear life, not really capable of anything else against her total assault on his senses. It’s likely that his fingers have left a pattern of dark bruises across her delicate skin by now, but she doesn’t seem to mind at all. Instead, she leans into his grip like she needs it. Finally, he manages to tear his mouth away from hers, lips descending to the elegant column of her neck like he’s always pictured.

A thrilling, uneven sigh falls from her parted lips at the sensation of his kiss, a sound that _does things_ to him. Automatically, his mouth opens wide, teeth catching on the delicate flesh there, biting and bruising. He can feel the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath his tongue. 

A deep, savage, instinctual need to claim, to consume nearly overpowers him.

“Mmm – Poe… _Fuck._ Wanted this for so long…” she breathlessly admits, voice an electrifying octave lower than normal, husky with lust.

He almost drops her in shock.

He’s not proud of it.

She yelps out a giggle at the sudden change in position, but her feet easily find the floor. Poe grasps her face in both hands, looking for a lie. All he finds is the truth of her words. 

She _has_ thought about this, about _him._

_How?_

Her blunt, white teeth dig into her kiss-swollen lower lip as she regards him, eyes heavy with desire. His thumb finds that plump lip, releasing it from its prison so he can dive in to kiss her again. Poe doesn’t understand how or why she could have possibly wanted this when she’d never really seen him, but he’s not about to question it.

Poe desperately sucks open-mouthed kisses from her lips, across her jaw, and down to taste her throat again. A small, hot, percussive gust of air fights its way through her clenched teeth as he worries at her neck, desire arcing up his spine like lightning. Unexpectedly, Rey flips their positions so that Poe’s back is now facing the bed. He’s a bit surprised, but more than happy to follow her whims. He rethinks that when his lips are abruptly torn from her neck as she gives him a heavy shove.

He lands ass-first on the mattress, the springs bouncing him back up an inch or so in the air before he comes to rest, leaning back on his hands. Gazing up at her in shock, he freezes. 

Every line of her face, her body, is _predatory_ in a way he’s never seen, her expression hungry. A heady rush of lust sweeps through him – he’s never felt more like an object of desire than he does right now. He’s a willing victim of Rey’s choosing.

The ethereal young woman, simultaneously dangerous and alluring, prowls forward, holding him pinned to the bed with nothing more than her gaze. As she reaches the edge of the mattress, she crawls up his body, pressing him irresistibly into the cool sheets at his back. He offers no opposition, totally under her sway as she settles over him, perched on her knees and observing him like she might a banquet.

Her expression unexpectedly shifts, now calculating, assessing. 

So slowly that he suspects she’s deliberately torturing him, Rey begins to peel the clothing from his body, exposing more and more of him to her shrewd gaze. 

He doesn’t move, except to help with the undressing process, waiting with bated breath for whatever is about to come next. 

She crawls backwards, slowly pulling his pants and underwear down his thighs to his ankles, backing away with his clothing and his dignity in her hands as she moves to stand over him at the edge of the bed.

Poe feels he’s on display, laid out like a sculpture on the bed, his cock cleaving to his stomach, flushed and practically pulsing with his desire for her. He can barely breathe under her scrutiny, hot and _itchy_ with the knowledge that she wants him like this. She wants to admire him, to examine him; manipulate him like clay. No woman has ever looked at him like it. His whole body feels weak from how much he wants this.

She begins to speak, casual as anything, reaching behind her back for the fastening of her bra. 

“I was never sure if the man who saved me from Kylo was the same one who was watching me… But – I _hoped_ it was you. I _imagined_ you,” she whispers, voice low and husky.

The lacy garment falls to the floor with no preamble, a move that should be monumental somehow rendered almost mundane by her lack of guile. She’s not ‘trying’ to seduce him – forced and awkward – she’s simply succeeding. 

Poe is used to being the aggressor, the pursuer. He’s never been – been _hunted_ like this. It’s thrilling and almost terrifying at the same time. He realizes he’s never allowed himself to be so vulnerable like this for a partner before.

She delicately slides her underwear off as well, and he doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes rove hungrily over her naked skin, following her every move as she delicately steps out of the scrap of material as soon as it hits the floor.

“It only took a week or two before I could tell when your eyes were on me. And when they weren’t. I could feel it. I expected to feel exposed, _violated,_ like I had every other time I’ve been tailed, but… You never watched me change, did you? You never watched me sleep.”

He doesn’t confirm or deny, but knows she can read it on his face. Her breath catches. She delicately licks her plush, pink lips, eyes heavy as she walks around the bed, taking every inch of him in. 

“It was – strange. I-I couldn’t stop thinking about you… About you… _watching_ me. And I started to _w-want_ you to look at me. All the time.”

The heady, low, breathless sound of her voice, her desire for him audible, has his head spinning. Poe’s mouth is bone-dry, and he’s hardly able to understand, let alone believe what he’s hearing. 

Combined with this image of her – tall and sleek and alabaster in the moonlight – he’s rapidly losing any remaining control. Something about the way she stalks around him, however, holds him in place. Every muscle is taut and quivering with tension as he fights to keep himself still for her. 

Her eyes fall fully closed as she continues, hands drifting up to skim over her skin, lost in her own fantasy. “I wanted you to see me… In the _shower_ … Watching me as I – ” a catch in her breath – “As I took myself apart to the _thought_ of you – your hands on me, eyes on me… mouth – _ah!_ – on me…”

Rey’s fingers dip between her thighs.

He’s dumbstruck. Pure _want_ overtakes him like a fever as her words sink in. Suddenly, all that soft hazel meets his eyes again, her tone rough but forward as she continues. She’s so damn honest, _his girl._

_Shit._

“Do you want to see?” she asks, voice dripping with desire, “What you do to me? What you’ve done to me since before I even met you?”

The sound that bursts from his chest is inhuman, not even a word, but Rey blessedly takes it as an affirmative. Before he even really knows what’s happening, she’s suddenly on the bed with him again. Only this time, her knees straddle his shoulders as she settles directly over his face. 

She’s _fucking dripping_ for him, enough that he automatically opens his mouth, droplets of her heavy nectar landing directly on his tongue. Poe moans, open-mouthed and breathless as she slowly descends to his waiting lips, her _want_ fragrant and visible. He’s craning his neck up, eagerly licking into her before she’s even properly seated. He can hear her gasp even over the sloppy sound of his mouth meeting her sex.

“ _Holy shit,_ ” she breathes, and Poe would return the sentiment if only he weren’t busy with more important things.

She’s fucking salty and delicious, musky and just a little sweet. It _fucks him up_ in the most beautiful way, potent and addictive like a dangerous narcotic. Just one taste, and he’s already hopelessly hooked.

He can’t help but groan with satisfaction, skipping any attempt at preamble as he plunges his tongue deep into her slick and searing centre, lapping up her essence like a dying man. Something like a _shriek_ rips out of her at the act, and Poe knows that sound will haunt his dreams for the rest of time. 

She falls forward onto her hands at the shock of it, more of her slight weight baring down on his jaw. Shudders quake through her thighs on either side of his face, and he realizes with a jolt that she’s on the edge already. 

A growl of triumph rumbles up out of his chest, and she whines at the deep vibration reverberating from his mouth through her cunt. Suddenly, a white-hot, pure bolt of pain lances across his scalp as she seizes his curls in a fierce grip. It goes straight to his already-aching dick.

The obscene slurp of her pleasure on his tongue is quickly drowned out by her short, escalating cries. Every heaving exhale from her lungs is like music to his ears, and he can’t resist the urge to dig his fingers into her ass cheeks hard enough to leave marks. He pulls her impossibly close, forgoing air in pursuit of her inevitable, inescapable peak. Without warning, her thighs clamp powerfully down on his head.

He sees stars as the wet muscles of her magnificent sex _seize_ around his tongue like a vise, his vision blackening and lungs straining deliciously as she seems to almost endlessly come. Poe nearly reaches his own peak at the way she annihilates him, a small spurt of precum dribbling hot onto his abs as he loses all sense of himself in her.

The world comes rushing back as Rey tugs sharply at his hair. Before he knows it, she’s allowed her body to fall backward. He follows her up until he’s curled over her, hips now held high off the bed in his hands. She automatically hooks her legs over his shoulders, ankles linking together behind his neck stronger than any chain. Her upper back hits the bedspread between his thighs.

She _shouts_ again – something almost like his name – as he doesn’t pause in his feast, relentlessly devouring her even as her legs begin to quake once more. He forces his eyes open, gaze raking hungrily over her – to put it bluntly – _fucking ripped_ abs. There are ridges of muscle as far as the eye can see. Beyond _that_ incredible view, Rey’s face is a masterpiece, mouth open and cheeks flushed nearly crimson.

Never losing a beat, (and all while more turned on than he’s ever been in his life, _thank you_ ), Poe lets go of her hips with one hand so that he can alternate thrusts of his finger and tongue just inside her sensitive entrance. It drives her absolutely _god damn wild_. For the second time tonight, he almost loses his grip on her as she writhes in his grasp. 

It’s a rewarding – if slightly challenging – reaction. 

But he doesn’t let up, and Rey soon sobs out his name, muscles rippling powerfully as she reaches her peak a second time.

It’s _deeply fucking profound._ Poe mentally rolls his eyes at himself, well aware that he tends toward being a little dramatic – hyperbole is kind of his middle name – but she is truly like a revelation, a vision, a phenomenon. He sucks and licks at her in delight, drinking the ambrosia and drawing out her orgasm for as long as possible. She shakes almost violently with aftershocks, but she makes no move to stop him, softly chanting “Yes, yes, yes,” while he gulps his fill.

Finally, he pulls away from her, chest heaving as he takes in heavy, heady gulps of air, eyes burning over her body. She’s lying mostly on her back, now, staring dazedly up at the ceiling as she comes down. One arm is flung carelessly above her head, and the other hand rests boneless atop her rapidly rising and falling chest. A deep blush bleeds from her cheeks all the way down to the tips of her small, pert breasts. 

It hides some of her lighter freckles.

He wants to _lick_ it off her like strawberries and cream.

Not even close to being finished with her, Poe can’t help but rub his stubbled jaw along the insides of her silky thighs, dropping soft, wet kisses here and there as he keeps her knees firmly slung over his shoulders. She twitches delightfully with each rough pass of his cheek, and before too long, Rey glances back down at him, eyes shining with mischief. She smirks.

_Dangerous._

“You’ve got something on your face, Dameron,” she quips.

A surprised laugh bursts forth from his chest, and he ducks out from under her legs. 

Playfully shoving her knees to the side so he has room to drag his forearm across his mouth, he perfunctorily wipes off her shining fluids. Cheekily, he gives her gorgeous ass a light slap. She’s giggling, too, goofy, silly. Cute. Rey’s curled up facing away from him, and he can’t fight the urge to cast an admiring eye along the expanse of her spine.

Of course, she catches him looking, and rolls back over on her front, stretching out languidly with an expression that just _dares_ him to look his fill.

Agent Poe Dameron has never been a man to back down from a challenge, a bet, or a dare. 

He surveys her hungrily, spellbound, as she deliberately lays her head back on the bed and closes her eyes. 

Her bare feet drag softly along the sheets as her knees draw up. Her hands slide down. 

Poe’s breath catches in his throat as she slowly plunges her fingers between her legs.

Rey softly gasps. Her knees press together, and her hips slowly angle up. 

Before he knows it, he’s crowded close to her, watching raptly and growling out a stream of filthy encouragement.

“ _Sweetheart,_ ” he purrs, “Is that how you touch yourself? When you imagine… us?”

The final word is so low it’s nearly subsonic.

A high little moan gets trapped behind her closed lips. She nods a bit desperately, brows drawing together, eyelids clenched. “ _Yes,_ ” she gasps, digging her teeth into her bottom lip as her fingers push deeper. 

“I wished it was you, though,” she half-cries, half-gasps, her hazel eyes suddenly open and fixed on him. “Every time, I’d imagine your fingers in place of my own… Mine – _ah!_ – just aren’t thick enough…”

He bites back a snarl, jaw clenched tight, muscles ticking. Fights off the desire to touch. Right now, he should feel blessed just to watch.

Rey seems to have other ideas.

“I’m so _wet_ for you, Poe,” she breathes, bringing her soaked and glistening digits up to admire the evidence. “I’m so ready. Want to fuck you…”

With an almost pained groan, he seizes her wrist, sucking her fingers into his mouth to lick off the juices. His tongue curls and laps, not a drop wasted. 

Rey watches patiently as he licks and sucks at her hand, eyes practically black with arousal.

_Fuck he needs her._

Before he knows what’s happening, her fingers have disappeared from his mouth with a wet _pop._

Her spit-damp palm lands on his chest, pushing him back down onto the bed even as she sits up, now leaning over him. It’s almost _fucking_ poetic, the push and pull of it all, the way their bodies respond to each other. How they’re overpoweringly drawn to one another, like magnets irresistibly pulled together despite opposing forces.

Sooner than he can really process that errant thought, Rey’s slung one leg over his hips, now straddling him, holding him down like a lioness subduing her prey. It’s impossible to hold back the punched-out noise he makes as she mercilessly begins sliding her slick slit along his length. Head thrown back, he clenches his eyes shut and _stops fucking breathing,_ trying to prevent his soul from leaving his body before he’s even felt what it’s like to be _inside_ her.

When he’s finally stopped mentally field-stripping his sidearm long enough to open his eyes, Rey’s simmering, smug look suggests she knows exactly what she’s doing to him. 

He honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He reaches between them, grasping his dick to line it up at her entrance. Her eyes on his are penetrating, the pure exposure he feels under her attention threatening to overwhelm him again. He gasps out a rough plea.

“ _Rey_ … C-can - ?”

“ _Yes,_ ” she hisses, grabbing his forearm and sinking down on his length in one achingly slow, burning movement.

It’s another needlessly reckless choice in an evening of reckless choices, but in for a penny, in for a pound. He can’t find it in himself to regret any of it. Not when every broiling millimeter of her passage is _pressed flush_ against his naked cock, wet and yet almost blindingly tight. He’s pretty sure his heart actually stops when his hips finally meet hers, fully sheathed inside of her.

Stunned and still, they stare at each other, gasping in the dying light of the fire.

“ _Sweetheart,_ ” he breathes, not sure if he’s pleading or expressing his gratitude – or worshipping at her feet, but either way It breaks the spell.

Relentlessly, Rey starts up a slow grind of her hips, threatening once again to undo him. Little noises tumble from her lips with every breath. Her eyelids flutter closed. Suddenly, faster than Poe would have believed possible, another orgasm is _ripped_ from her. A moaning cry accompanies the python-like flex of her inner muscles, the clench so powerful that it actually _forces_ his dick out of her tight heat.

He gapes in shock as she falls forward with another cry, her orgasm so potent and unexpected that she collapses limply across his chest. She’s just come on his dick, practically untouched, pushed over the edge by nothing more than the feeling of him inside her. It’s _so fucking hot._

Poe sees red.

Before he’s even really aware of the impulse to do so, he’s wrestled her down beneath him, flipping her over to land front-first on the mattress, the long, lean line of her body laid out for him like a gift. She automatically pushes herself up on her elbows, cocking an eyebrow at him over her shoulder. He snarls, forcing his hands between her thighs to spread them apart. Her head drops forward with a ragged moan as he thrusts back into her drenched cunt.

She’s unbelievably tight from this angle, so slick and hot that he almost blacks out. He curses across six languages, prompting a breathless, delighted chuckle from Rey. She arches her head back, stretching like a cat. 

“I have – _ha!_ – so many questions, Agent.”

Poe pulls back experimentally, easing his hips away until the head of his dick is just barely seated inside her. She gasps, voice a little muffled as she drops her forehead to the pillow, cursing her own blue streak. 

“Aaah, fuck! That feels… so – _uhng_ – so good,” she moans as he slowly penetrates her again.

He doesn’t even have the ability to form words at this point; all he can do is follow his body’s instincts, shuddering as he continues the slow slide in and out. It’s impossible to resist kissing the sharp blades of her shoulders, and he sweeps her dark hair to one side, eager to access her neck with his teeth. 

She whines when he bites at her; sloppy, likely a little too hard. Instead of protesting, though, she arches back into him, hips tilting to accommodate even more of his length, drawing him deeper.

He growls out her name, practically more vibration than sound, it’s so low. 

“What you do to me, honey…”

Suddenly, her hand flies back to fist in his hair, tugging so hard his hips stutter in response. 

“I know… _God, Poe,_ I know.”

They’re completely lost in each other, Poe’s thrusts speeding up, driving her into the mattress each time he bottoms out. Every hitch in her breath is joined by a sharp moan. He absolutely loves it, praise falling from his mouth to shower across her back like gold. 

“So beautiful, Rey, so _fucking perfect_ for me…” 

A ragged gasp tears from him as she begins to tense, another orgasm clearly about to barrel down on her like an out-of-control train. “ _Fuuuuck_ – gorgeous, sweetheart, do anything for you… _Keep you safe_ …”

Time loses all meaning – nothing exists outside the joining of their bodies. Sweat-soaked skin plasters together, mingled breath heated and heady in the still-cool air of the cabin. The sound of their coupling, desperate and almost harsh, is rendered somehow beautiful even in its obscenity. Through the haze of it all, Poe suddenly realizes that Rey is saying something to him, _sobbing_ it out really, and it registers white-hot in his brain.

“Please, Poe… _Harder._ Hard as you want…”

What else can he do but obey? He comes unleashed, pounding into her with a fury he didn’t know he had. 

She shouts in delight. His name and the word _yes_ are the only intelligible sounds amongst the cries.

Without warning, Rey’s entire body seizes tight as she comes.

Poe’s orgasm sneaks up on him like sudden unconsciousness, happening all at once. It’s sudden and all-consuming. His hips stutter forward powerfully as Rey cries out beneath him, spine taut and curved, head thrown back. 

For a protracted eternity, they remain in a fragile state of suspended animation. Their bodies strain with the sheer, titanic force of their joining, their mutual ecstasy. Then all at once, the tension _snaps_ like an over-tuned guitar string, curling and springing Poe back into awareness with all the violence of a birth.

Oxygen floods his lungs, the air now thick with the scent of sex, of her. It’s drugging, intense. His mother’s ring, still improbably chill, swings back to slap coldly against his sternum as he rears back a little, careful not to crush the slim woman beneath him. He can feel where his carefully controlled curls have rebelled, sticking to his forehead with sweat. 

Rey still heaves and twitches, every aftershock prompting a full-body shiver from Poe each time her muscles ripple around his oversensitive cock.

He stares down at the pale expanse of her back, flashes of rib and muscle pushing up against the skin as she pants for breath. Absolutely thunderstruck, it’s almost like an out-of-body experience when his hand comes up to gently brush the tendrils of damp hair away from her flush face and she _fucking leans in_ to his touch. 

Her eyes are closed in obvious pleasure as she hums out a sound that might almost be words, were her voice not so rough from screaming his name.

The smug, pleased grin that adorns Poe’s mouth at that revelation isn't entirely involuntary. Rey clears her throat a little and licks her reddened, kiss-bitten lips, trying again. 

“Mmm… _Agent Dameron_ …” she practically growls. 

Her own lips quirk with a self-satisfied grin when his cock noticeably twitches inside of her thanks to the sex-roughened sound of his title in her mouth.

“Rey,” he sighs out in turn, his own voice shamefully shaking with the swirl of emotions threatening to boil over inside him now that reality is beginning to trickle back in. He allows his body to lean forward just a little, only enough that he can skate kisses along her skin; soothing, calming. It’s as much for him as it is for her. The sweet sigh he receives as thanks has his heart skipping, falling impossibly deeper under her spell. 

He presses one last lingering, open-mouthed kiss to her knobby spine before reluctantly pulling away.

She emits a bereft little noise but allows the motion, and he pulls out of her fully despite the desire to remain close. He’s knelt back on his haunches between her spread legs, the pleasurable brain-fog of good sex still very much present, when a little of his spend leaks out between her pleasure-soaked lower lips. 

A thrilling little shudder quakes through Rey’s body as the thick fluid slides down. She’s clearly still sensitive enough to feel it. Poe watches, utterly spellbound, as a rash of goosebumps spread along her limbs. With a helpless, gaping _moan,_ he descends upon her. He furiously laps at her entrance, messy slurps punctuated by panting groans as he licks her clean, sucking at their combined juices until Rey keens into the pillow, accidentally dragged into one final sharp, nearly hypersensitive orgasm.

Poe finally pulls back, the fog of desperation lifting a little. He pants as though he’s just emerged unscathed from a stormy sea. It’s more than possible he’s been holding his breath for several long minutes. He only has room in his head for Rey. He can’t be dissuaded by something as trivial as a need for oxygen.

After a moment, Rey flops gracelessly over on to her back, an act that both seems to require an heroic effort, and results in their legs becoming oddly tangled. As soon as she has him in her sights, the young reporter fixes him in her gaze. They stare at each other, something hotly contested bound to emerge as each silently dares the other to talk first.

Tension mounts, and with it comes a surge of anxiety. This was a mistake. Poe knows it. He’s going to lose his job, and if he isn’t here to protect Rey, then how can he trust she’ll remain safe? What if she gets hurt, all because he couldn’t keep it in his _fucking pants?_

Fists clench, nails biting into skin and teeth grinding audibly in his skull. The very idea that she might be hurt, especially by that monster Ren, is completely unacceptable. He’ll die first. He’ll _burn down_ the First Order and everyone who’s a part of it. Burn it to the fucking ground.

Her matter-of-fact voice snaps him out of his rage spiral.

“You know I can hear you overthinking this, yeah?”

He huffs peevishly, disentangling himself from both her and the sheets in order to climb off the bed. In order to run away from the storm inside him. He needs to lose himself in action. He snatches articles of clothing from the floor, avoiding her gaze as he dresses himself with efficient, almost brutal speed. Whirling back around to face the bed, to speak, he’s confronted by the sight of Rey, sitting bare and lost in the centre of the mattress.

Poe must look a complete mess, still flushed and sweaty from the most mind-blowing sex of his life. Clothing twisted and a little bunched up, the ring dangles askew down his back. His chest heaves. Automatically, his hands bury themselves in his hair, a gesture of pure anxiety he thought he’d rid himself of years ago.

“This,” he finally manages, gesticulating wildly between the two of them, “This was a mistake, Rey. I’m sorry…”

She just watches him, eyes wide and brimming with hurt.

He lashes out without warning, throwing his fist so hard at the wall that he’s pretty sure he cracks a knuckle. 

“FUCK! I never, never should have let it go this far.”

Rey’s off the bed in a second, reaching out, cradling his hurt fist between her two soft hands. His blood leaks out through several splits in the skin. Crimson drips down; flowers of blood bloom on the smooth marble of her palms. He’s frozen, yet not; nearly vibrating out of his flesh at her touch but terrified to move from her proximity. 

He can’t look at her. She’s too bright, like staring directly into the sun. Instead, he glowers at her palms, watching how he stains her purity with his filth.

Unexpectedly, she uses her grip on his hand to spin them around, pushing him firmly to sit on the edge of the bed. He’s numb, shutting down for fear of somehow accidentally hurting her in his quest to punish himself. He sits. Docile, at least in appearance.

Silently, she snatches a sweatshirt up from the floor, shrugging it on in a businesslike manner to cover her nakedness. It doesn’t make him any less aware of her long legs beneath his clothing, her body underneath his clothes. Those legs pass in and out of his line of sight like a hazy mirage, his awareness fixed on her despite his sudden stasis.

In a blink, she’s beside him again, that hint of lemony perfume suddenly overwhelming his senses. The next thing he knows, his hand is laid out in her lap as she tends to his knuckles with a first aid kit she apparently found. Slowly, despite himself, he can feel his body begin to relax at her proximity, her gentle touch. She works silently for a few moments, lulling him into a state that’s soothing, automatic, a sort of soft catatonia.

A quiet mutter is enough to force him out of it almost violently. 

“I know you don’t actually believe this was a mistake.”

She says it serenely, as though stating an irrefutable fact. He sucks a sharp breath in through his nose, inflating like an angry bullfrog, but she cuts him off. 

“I think you’re scared. You’re afraid I’ll get hurt. But this is my job, Poe.” 

She presses a hand to his chest, over his racing heart.

Rey reaches up with her other hand, cupping his jaw, tugging at him until he’s facing her, but he won’t look at her, his eyes still seeing nothing but blood on her pretty skin. She’s so close, her breath dancing across his mouth. Pressing her forehead firmly to his, she speaks again, her voice cracked and full. 

“I don’t need you to save me, Poe. I need you to help me bring them down.”

Heat flares in his chest, something inside him roaring with pride at his girl. _She wants to take the fuckers out._ Together, they might even have a means to do it.

He’s kissing her, devouring her, pressing her back down onto the bed with the force of a bomb.

She’s incredible. She’s a goddamn hurricane. 

Poe’s still terrified. He’ll never feel good about this woman in proximity to danger, but he can’t help himself. 

Rey’s held his soul in her hand, free to do what she pleases with it, with him – with his heart, his life – since the moment he first glimpsed her, vibrant and alive and real.

He makes her scream his name again.

And again, in the early hours, the dawn light making her glow. He can’t resist. He doesn’t want to.

~~

Awareness hits like a bucket of cold water. Poe’s instantly alert, his body tuned to something outside the cabin. It’s almost night again, the sky tinged a deep reddish purple at the very edge of the horizon, bleeding into inky black. It looks like a bruise. The agent slides his hand silently under the pillow, grasping his pistol firmly.

There.

Suddenly, Rey’s awake, too, tense in his arms at the faint, rhythmic sound of crunching snow. A brief, searing look of recognition passes between them. Rey’s face hardens, all stony determination. It’s definitely footfalls, outside the cabin, in the snow.

Silent as a fox, the agent slides out of bed, instinctively checking his sightlines, ensuring the room is still clear. He makes his way swiftly over to the door, trying to catch a glimpse of their unwelcome visitor through the small, square windows to either side of it. Damnit. There are no clear views. He can’t get a read on them, no idea if they’re friend or foe.

He glances away from the window, surprised to see the young reporter has taken up his flank. One of his guns is in her hands. When did she find that? 

She’s covering him from a very smart, well-concealed spot beside the fireplace, in the shadow of the brick chimney. 

Taking in her stance – swift, assessing – he’s puzzled to note that she holds the gun like a pro. In fact, her entire posture screams professional training.

No time to think on it. The crunch of fallen snow is dangerously close. His focus instantly returns to the door. He plants himself beside it, back to the wall, armed and ready. Every muscle is primed, tense and thundering with his fast-pumping blood.

Heavy boots, full of snow, clomp up the porch steps. Time slows, every detail crystalizing as his body remembers its training: Air Force followed by FBI. Whoever’s found them will be dead before they even get off a shot.

A flurry of knocks sound on the heavy wood of the door, an odd sort of rat-a-tat pattern. Rey gasps. Then she’s at the door, disengaging the locks, ripping it open to the cold night. 

“Finn!” she shrieks, launching herself into the arms of the figure on the porch.

Poe reacts instantly, charging after her, training his gun between the eyes of a handsome, dark-skinned young man, about Rey’s age. 

“Hands in the air!” he barks, heart in his throat, terror turning to ice in his veins. “Step away from him, Rey! I said step away!”

“Poe! Stop!” 

She puts herself between him and his target.

“You need to move, Rey!” he roars, gun shaking in his grip for the first time since his days at basic training, horrified that he’s got it pointed anywhere near her.

“No.”

She’s calm, her voice quiet. He finds himself searching her face desperately, frantically hoping to see some logical reason she could possibly have to get between him and a threat. Her expression is absolutely serene, unafraid of him, of the weapon pointed at her, of the stranger at her back.

The voices of every teacher, drill instructor and commander are screaming at him not to let his guard down. Every instinct he has goes against trusting anything about this. But her eyes – they beg him for trust, for belief… for hope.

The universe seems to pause, a cosmic, shimmering inhalation. It reminds him of the moment of silence before a band on stage begins to play, the terrible pressure in your skull of an oncoming storm, the click of a trigger before a gun fires. It’s breathless anticipation: fear and faith contained in the same distilled instant.

He puts up his weapon.

Rey steps aside instantly, wordlessly reciprocating his demonstration of faith without question. 

Another moment like to a vacuum – lacking any oxygen – occurs as the other man stares Poe down, unexpectedly fearless. The agent blinks. What the hell?

She reaches out, gently grasping the hand still holding the weapon. “Poe Dameron. Meet Finn Trooper.”

The young man sticks out a gloved hand. 

“Good to meet you, Poe. Welcome to the Resistance.”


End file.
